The Kept
by Revalacy
Summary: We were slaves once, forced into the bidding of the Ombra. It's been almost two thousand years since that time, but I fear nothing has changed. Humanity was never free... we simply chose a new master. Something else is at work, and it means to destroy us.
1. Attack on Eldwist Castle

**_Danny Phantom_**

**_The Kept_**

_Author's Notes: This idea came to me after reading book three of the Kingdom of Thorn and Bone, "The Blood Knight" by Greg Keyes. In this story, characters are going to be in different roles. A lot of the words I'm going to be using for races, places, people, and other such things are actually related words translated into different languages. See if you can pick them out, and if you have questions, don't hesitate to ask. This is going to be a very, very complexed story. I've drawn inspiration and sometimes direct quotations from several sources, the most notable being "Danny Phantom," "The Kingdoms of Thorn and Bone," "Avatar: The Last Airbender," and certain songs by Evanescence. More will be added as I discover more ideas._

_Also, I know there are going to be certain parts in this that younger children aren't allowed to read, but if you'd like to read them, I just might add a separate yet related story to illistrate this point. But I'm still thinking on it. More news on this as the plot develops. _

_So now, here we are, I give to thee part one of the Dark Kingdom Arc, "The Kept."_

**DISCLAIMER: DANNY PHANTOM AND ALL RELATED CHARACTERS ARE PROPERTY OF BUTCH HARTMAN. THE KINGDOM OF THORN AND BONE AND ALL RELATED IDEAS ARE PROPERTY OF GREG KEYES. ALL OTHER CHARACTERS, IDEAS, PLACES, ETC. THAT ARE NOT EXPLICITLY COPYRIGHTED ARE MY PROPERTY.**

**Chapter One:**

**Attack On Eldwist Castle**

* * *

She pressed her boot firmly into his neck. "You are under my control, you wretched demon," she snarled, narrowing her eyes. "You and everyone of your kind. You shall enslave us no longer. The Ombra, from here out, will be wiped out." 

He chuckled. "_Brave words, coming from a slave. Our time is passed, human, but know that you will always be slaves. All you've done is chosen a new master_," he hissed, and she belted him hard across the face.

"Just for that, I'm going to make you suffer," she snarled, and yanked him up by the collar of his shirt. "You and your child will have the privilege of serving us for the rest of eternity. The rest of you shall be slain." Her eyes darted to the corner of the room, where another of his evil seed was being held. The boy was unusual, but she knew that he'd be just like the rest of them. "Put him in the bottle. I'll make sure this one stays within the darkness."

The men nodded and dragged the boy away.

Below her, he chuckled again. "_Virgenya, Virgenya, you believe this ends, don't you? It shall never end. The clock is ticking slowly. Humanity will be forced to make its final stand, now the only question remains is when?_"

"Well you can ponder that for the rest of eternity while you rot in the dungeon," she snarled, and dragged him away.

* * *

_"Dash! That wasn't funny!"_

_"It was too, don't lie!"_

_"MOTHER!"_

_"Now you two need to quit bickering. There's plenty that needs prepared, and you aren't even dressed yet! Dashiel Robert and Samantha Maria Manson, get in here at once!"_

_The pair froze and stepped into the room their mother had called them from, looking different degrees of guilty. Samantha's dress was slightly torn and her hair was a wreck, and ink blots covered the front of Dashiel's doublet. Neither offered an explanation._

_"Well I hope you two are happy! My Uncle John and his wife are going to be here in but two hours, and you two look an awful mess! What have you to say for yourselves?"_

_"Sorry..." they chimed together. Their mother sighed._

_"Jasmine! Come in here a moment!"_

_The girl did as told, peering in the door. "Yes, your majesty?" she inquired, giving the queen a deep bow._

_"Take Samantha up and have her fitted into another gown. I'll not have her looking like a street urchin when John arrives," she said, and then pushed Dashiel out the door as well. "And you, go find Michael and have him remove those stains, quickly!"_

Samantha opened her eyes. Where was she? And how had she come to be there? It was dark, save for a few candles and the moonlight filtering in through her window. Her memories were fuzzy, distant, almost, as though someone had hit her hard over the head...

She reached up to feel her raven locks. No blood, so she hadn't been clubbed. That was a start. She was wrapped in a blanket, shivering. Her eyes adjusted to the light at last and she peered around to find herself in a stone chamber. There were tapestries hanging from the walls, but it was still too dark to make them out. She way laying on a large, soft bed in the center of the room, and the floor was covered in fine rugs. In her hand was clutched a bottle... how had it gotten there?

She thought hard for a moment, allowing the memories to slid over her.

"What happened... I remember... the party..." she whispered to herself, drawing the blanket tighter around her. A flash of something entered her mind, something terrible and bloody, with maggots for eyes and the stench of a thousand rotting corpses. She gasped and her back slammed against the headboard.

At the commotion the door flew open. "What is it, princess?" the man asked. He was clad in armor and terrible familiar... "Is everything alright?"

"W-where are we?" she asked, her voice trembling. He entered her room fully, and then his name flickered into her mind. "Sir Skulker, what happened?"

He sat at the foot of her bed, pressing a careful hand to her forehead. "A slight fever. Must have been from the water..." he mumbled. "You don't remember, princess?"

She shook her head and shivered. Had it always been so cold in this room? He placed another blanket around her shoulders.

"We were attacked, your highness. It was very fortunate that we escaped. Actually, most of us were wondering if you might know a bit more about what happened than we do. Seems most of the men that fled with us were just barely awake. But once we got you away from the castle, the attackers vanished."

"Attackers? Castle... are mother and father alright?"

"I suppose so, we haven't heard any news, so I'm hoping that's a good sign. But you should rest, your highness. You've had a trying day."

She shook her head. "No, I want to know what happened. And what is this?" she asked, gesturing towards the bottle in her hand. The knight opened his mouth to speak when another voice answered for him.

"Your mother never said, Samantha." This voice was feminine, familiar... then when her eyes fell on the red hair and teal eyes, her memory jolted again.

"My mother gave me this?" she asked, staring at it. "I wonder what it is..."

"She did say not to open it," the girl cautioned. "There wasn't time to explain the details."

Samantha just shook her head. "Well, we'll never know what it is unless we open it, right?" she asked, looking from one face to the other. A few more had joined them to see what all the commotion was about. She was about to twist the crystal cap off when yet another voice broke through the silence.

"Samantha! Oh my dear sweet niece, are you alright?" a woman cried, bursting into the room and throwing her arms around the girl's neck.

"Aunt Dora!" she gasped, trying to suck in air. The older woman let go, wiping a tear from her eye.

"We thought we may have lost you there for a little while," she said quietly, stroking the dark beauty's hair. Sam arched an eyebrow and sent a glance across the room and the handmaiden standing in the doorway.

"What happened, Jazz?" she asked, attempting to move, but her actions were thwarted by both Skulker and Dora, who lay hands on her shoulders and pressed her back down. Jasmine sighed deeply and crossed the room.

"I only know what little I saw, the rest is just what you can remember," she said, sitting beside the princess, who was staring at her avidly. She went on. "When the party began, your father had started introducing people and you were running off somewhere, remember?"

"I remember that much, but after that its all a bit hazy."

Jasmine nodded. "We were in the armory, remember? Looking at the swords, and you found one with an obsidian pommel and some kind of engraving on it, and had a mind to keep it. It was right about then that we heard someone scream."

_"Princess, that isn't a toy! It's a weapon, probably the sword of some knight who left it here for safe keeping!"_

_"Jazz, it's just a sword. If it were a knight's weapon, he'd have it on him. It's like they're naked without their swords," the young woman replied, drawing the gleaming blade from an old leather sheath. The blade had dulled from disuse and the metal was scratched and worn, though that was the only ordinary thing about the blade. Just below the hilt there were engravings, ones that looked as though they might be an ancient script of some dead culture. It was very gothic in nature, and it fascinated the young princess._

_ The same couldn't be said about her attendant, however, as the older girl looked stiffly at the weapon. "We should go, Sam, or we're going to get in trouble."_

_Sam opened her mouth to speak when a rather loud shriek punctured the air, and both girls were somewhat scared that the sound had issued itself from the princess's mouth. However that was clearly not the case, as more screams followed suit, though these were nearly telligible. Sam peered out the door carefully, observing the room without, and saw a panic had ensued._

_ "Sam, let's go!" Jazz breathed quickly, fear laced in her normally-smooth voice. Sam nodded, not acknowledging that she still held the blade within her hands, as the two girls exited the armory and ran straight into a rather unsavory character. He was tall, with rich black armor that constricted his face and body from view. The helmet he wore seemed to emit purple flames, and the sword he brandished at the Princess and the handmaiden was alight with searing green flame._

_ "Release the child of fate, wretched woman," he demanded in harsh tones. Sam didn't really have much time to contemplate what he was demanding, because an instant later Jazz had dragged her from the room hurriedly, hoping that they hadn't been followed._

_They had, of course, and it was only the sudden yanking of the girls into a strange and secret passage that saved them from being quite publicly dismembered._

_"Mother, what are you doing?" Sam inquired, now quite thoroughly confused. The older woman smiled at her daughter sadly._

_"Samantha, I'm very proud of you."_

_"Mom, wha-?"_

_"Here, take this and run, but do not open it. Sir Skulker and his company will escort you from the palace. Promise me you won't look back." She shoved a small silver bottle into her daughter's hands.  
_

_"But Mom I-"_

_"Promise me!"_

_Sam stared at her for several long moments. It felt like it could have been an eternity that she stood there, staring fixedly at the woman who'd born her into the world, but there was little time for debate, and the desperate look in Queen Pamela's eyes. At length the young princess conceded to her mother's wishes and was whisked away from the palace and out into the darkness._

Sam's eyes opened, eying the people who stood around her. Unconsciously she fiddled with the bottle that remained clenched in her hands. She had questions, and lots of them, and there were so many to choose from. Of course, she suspected they didn't have much time, and not all of her questions would be answered as satisfactorily as she wanted. "Why do I have a fever?" was the question she at last settled on, one which was easily answered.

"Upon leaving the palace, your horse was... er... incapacitated, and you fell along with it into the river flowing beside the walls. It was a miracle we got you out in time."

It was only then that she'd really taken a good notice of the knight sitting at her feet. Being Esprit, he was unnatural, even amongst their standards. His body was composed of cybernetic armor and his hair was created of large green flames... flames that had licked the blade of a sword she'd seen...

"Who were the men that attacked us?" she asked, looking around. "They weren't human, were they?"

"No... Princess, they were Esprit."

She nodded. A sharp jab of pain shot through her weakened lungs and she lurched, the bottle falling from her grasp. It seemed to float through eternity, gently gliding to its inevitable destination: in shattered pieces upon the stone. Jasmine's scream barely seemed to register as the knight grabbed hold of Sam to keep her from falling after the bottle.

And then it shattered, shards flying every which direction, forced as though the bottle had exploded rather than having just fallen. Mist issued into the room and swirled around, sifting around until it took on a vaguely human shape. Shock and mingled fear danced in the eyes of the spectators, all but Samantha, who's sight had been claimed by the sudden wave of unconsciousness that had overtaken her. The shape solidified, and men drew their weapons as it sank, coughing, to the floor.

Though this spectacle was a captivating one, it didn't distract them from the unmistakable sound of cannon-fire that ensued only seconds later. Jasmine screamed, not really knowing why but feeling it was an appropriate gesture for the present situation.

Sam could do no such thing, as her breathing had become labored and her muscles twitched unnaturally. Her eyes were glazing, a sure sign that something had burrowed its way within her lungs. Dora was screaming and wailing, shaking her young niece. "Samantha! No, Samantha! Come back to me!" she cried, sobbing into the girl's bodice. A stern hand forced her lightly to the side, and the woman was hardly able to register who'd done the pushing. He was a young man, garbed in strange clothes. His black hair ruffled slightly and his crystal orbs glinted slightly with purpose as he leaned over Samantha's prone form.

No one dared breathe, even with the bombardment of their little stronghold, as the young man leaned closer and pressed his lips to hers. She jerked and he pulled up, and then whirled around. "I need water," he said shortly, gesturing to a young man near the door to comply with his demand. He did so, bring a large bucket of it. The boy nodded to him and wove his hands through the air, guiding the water from the bucket to the girl's mouth and depositing it within. He closed his eyes in concentration and then jerked up. The water emerged, and within it something dark and writhing was trapped. Jasmine released a gasp and Dora shrieked.

The boy clenched his hands into fists and crushed the sinister mass and then dropped it into the bucket. A breath froze the liquid and its contents solid, and he thrust it unceremoniously out the window.

* * *


	2. Aftermath

**_Danny Phantom_**

**_The Kept_**

_Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay. College is somewhat evil, and my forgetfulness doesn't help. Anyways, I'm back, bringing you another chapter of The Kept. I'll answer questions from the reviews at the end of each chapter. Thanks for sticking with me, now here's the chapter I promised you._

**Chapter Two:**

**Aftermath**

* * *

_"Mother, this is ridiculous. Aragon never does anything for us, so why are we throwing him a party?" she asked incredulously while behind her, the young, fire-headed attendant laced up the bodice of the lovely gown she wore. Jasmine just clicked her tongue in soft admonishment at the princess's question and continued with her work, knowing that the queen had some sort of retort ready._

_"Because, Samantha, your uncle is still family, no matter how arrogant or pig-headed he may be, and don't let your father catch me saying that," she said quietly, a sparkle in her eye. Behind them, in the doorway, Valerie stood, ever watchful and silent. She never spoke much. Of course, Samantha couldn't really blame her. Being in charge of her mother's security, it had to be a rather difficult job, with very little time for idle conversation._

_The party she'd referred to had been in light of Aragon's recent victory over the Moorish forces that had rebelled against Amitian rule. After quelling the uprising, Aragon had returned to the capital city of Amity, jaunting his victory over all who'd listen. His arrogance wasn't the only reason Samantha disliked her uncle. The man had a shadow behind his eyes, like he looked at everyone with calculating stares with some agenda in mind. His general demeanor disturbed her greatly, and she was quite thankful that the laws had forbid inbred marriage simply because of the sneaky way he looked at her._

_"Alright, all set," the young attendant said at last, standing straight, and admiring her handy work. The gown was a deep lavender with black lace woven through the bodice and violet silk around the hem. It was a lovely dress, but far too dressy for her standards. At last she was ready, and her brother arrived at her door to escort her down into the ballroom. _

_"Try not to make a scene this time, Sammy," whispered the heir to the throne to his younger sister. "I know you don't like Aragon, but at least try and be nice for once."_

_"You don't like him either, Dash, so why are you lecturing me?" she shot back in a hushed whisper._

_"I didn't dump a bottle of wine over his head, Sam. Just… you know, cool it this time."_

_Sam sighed in resignation and sat at the table silently, staring at her plate. Of course she wasn't going to eat much of what they'd placed on the table. Most of it was meat, and she was violently opposed to such barbaric gestures. After all, they were humans, and were well above such savagery. That was to be left to the Moorish people and the beasts._

_When the time came for dancing, she remained as far away from her weasel-eyed uncle as possible, and when she sensed him coming near, she made certain she danced with someone else. Just when she thought she was free of him, a firm grip around her upper-arm caused her heart to plummet into her stomach. She knew those icy fingers._

_"Why, I would love to dance with my favorite niece," he said softly, nearly dragging her onto the ballroom floor and setting into a quick waltz. "You know, it's funny whenever I return to this palace, I have all these memories of my childhood, growing up here and what not," he said, spinning her around once. "Your father and I weren't exactly close, you see, and so when he didn't give me lordship of any of the main-lands, I wasn't very surprised. I only wish that we had been just a little closer." Something flickered over his face that made Samantha's skin prickle._

_"Why are you telling me this?" she asked after a few moments of silence._

_"Well, I thought you might like to know what your father was like before he was king."_

* * *

Sam coughed violently and lurched up, clutching her chest as she gulped down air. Beside her, Dora had gone into a fit trying to help her niece to breathe and recover herself so they might quickly retreat the attack that threatened to overwhelm them from without the stone manor. She was slightly disoriented for a few moments, trying to remember exactly where she was and why she hadn't woken up in her own rather large bed.

But the time for questions was a different one, she realized, as Jasmine quickly yanked her up and out of the bed she'd taken on in her aunt's home and pulled her towards the door. Brief flashes of violent fighting and quick fleeing, along with memories of a crystal bottle and matching blue orbs swam through her consciousness. It was then that she became quite aware that she was being followed rather closely by a young man she had no memory of ever meeting, though he looked incredibly familiar.

As they dashed through the hidden passages and into the tunnels below the village, she found herself slowing her pace for a few heartbeats to speak with this person who'd simply appeared out of seemingly nowhere.

"I don't mean to sound rude, sir, but who may I ask are you? And where in the world did you come from?"

He chewed his lip apprehensively for a moment, choosing his words carefully before he spoke. "You released me," he said at last, staring intently on the path they walked. "When the bottle broke, you let me out, and since you are the heir, I'm yours to command." He shrugged and glanced on ahead, apparently looking to see that the tunnels remained unblocked in the way of enemies.

"Excuse me? The heir? And last I checked, humans couldn't fit into bottles," she said sardonically, shaking her head.

"Well that would make sense if I were completely human," he said quietly, not raising his gaze to meet her incredulous one. She blinked a few times as she tried to comprehend exactly what he was saying. To her knowledge, no crossbreed between the mannish and the esprit had ever come about. They'd never been able to breed successfully for whatever anatomical reasons there were. She supposed that it was just the vast differences in their species, but she couldn't quite be sure.

The tunnels descended into another system of under-ground passages, all of them dank and musty, and extremely dark. Light emanated from Sir Skulker's hands as he led the way, each of them following closely. Dora ushered them along from the rear, her expression grim. Only twelve had survived long enough to flee the sudden onslaught from their unseen assailants: Samantha, her attendant Jazz, Dora, Sir Skulker, the strange boy who had never offered his name, two of Dora's handmaidens, and five of Skulker's soldiers. All of the others had been, regrettably, left behind to face their fates at the hand of those strange, violent men.

Suddenly they stopped, pausing in the center of a strange center room with many entrances and exits. There was no light, and the only sound that accompanied them, other than their own breathing, was the steady dripping of water from the cavern ceiling.

"Sir Skulker, I don't mean to be a nuisance, but where in Grimm are we going? If they haven't already started following us, they will soon and I don't think that standing in the middle of a passage is a good evasion tactic."

"Silent a moment, your highness, I'm trying to remember which exit we ought to take. I'll explain everything when we arrive, I swear to you."

* * *

"I might have guessed it was you," he snarled, jerking against the shackles that bound him fast to the stone wall. "You have no regard for anyone but your own life, you miserable-"

"Now, now, dear brother, that's no way to talk to your own kin. You might have guessed this was going to happen, but you're so blind to those near you that it would be next to impossible for you to see that your own family hates you."

"You're a snake, and you always have been. When Walker and Dora discover what's gone on here-"

"You assume they don't already know? That they didn't aid me? You fool, I have covered every base, every possibility. Walker has no care for what happens outside of his lands, and Dora wouldn't lift a finger to stop me if she wanted to. Allura, too, will be too afraid to aid you and your worthless family, no matter how headstrong our sister may be. Perhaps…"

He glared at his younger brother, his jaw clenched in sheer anger. "What did you do to my children?" he hissed.

"Sadly, I was not able to lay a hand on them. Your heir vanished in the hands of his mother and her guardian, and your daughter was whisked away by her attendant and the damnable captain of your castle guard. They'll be brought back quickly enough, have no ideas about that. And your wife… well, once you and the brats are out of the way, there won't be much choice for her."

"So what are you going to do, kill me?"

"No, not yet. You're no use to me dead, at least not yet. If I kill you, the throne simply passes on to your children, and what good would that do? No, I think for now, I'll keep you quite alive, simply to quell any rumors of a coup within your house. However, once both of your children fall suddenly and fatally ill, and pass away from some terrible disease, you too shall catch this insidious illness and the throne shall pass on to your reluctant, heart-broken, grief-stricken brother, who shall lead Amity into an era of conquest and glory."

* * *

"Now will you explain this to me, Sir Skulker?" Sam asked somewhat impatiently, following the knight up the steps to the manor he shared with his wife out in the Moorish lands. "What happened? I know you haven't told me everything you know." She shot a sideways glance at the boy, who'd refrained from uttering a sound the entire time they'd traveled. The Esprit knight sighed heavily and pushed open the great wooden doors, removing the helmet that hid his flaming hair.

"Once we get settled, I will explain everything, I promise your highness," he said wearily and set to work removing his heavy armor.

"Skulker? Who've you brought home?" came a voice from the stairs as a woman with eerie blue skin and piercing turquoise eyes descended from the upper levels. She had the same flaming hair as Skulker, only hers was of a blue color, rather than green. When she lay her eyes upon their guests her expression of slight annoyance immediately changed to one of extreme embarrassment, possibly due to the fact that she was wearing a sleeping robe. "You could have warned me that you were bringing her highness here!" she said irritably and rushed to greet their company.

"Sorry, dear, there wasn't much time to send word. I'll explain in a few minutes once I get the rest of this off…" he replied quietly.

She gave him a scolding look and bowed deeply to the princess and her host. "My name is Lady Ember, I'm Skulker's wife. Welcome to our home, make yourselves comfortable. We should have enough beds for everyone. Now, if I could please get names, so as to be a better hostess…" she said, clasping her hands before her and sweeping a glance over each of their faces.

"I'm sure you already know me…" Sam muttered, but went on none the less. "I'm Samantha, and this is my attendant, Jasmine."

"Jazz, please. Jasmine makes me think of my mother," she said, a note of bitterness in her usually silky voice.

Sam nodded. "And this is my Aunt Dora, two of her handmaidens, and…" she trailed off when she came to the boy.

He looked up, seemingly snapping out of a trance. "Oh… right… my name is Daniel, but just call me Danny, for short."

"Danny? That's an odd name," the lady of the house commented, then simply shrugged and turned to her husband. "You do intend to explain what happened, right?"

"Yes, yes, one more minute. Why don't we all meet in the study and get comfortable? This will be something of a long story," he said wearily and moved for the stairs. The company followed slowly, no one speaking a word as they made their way to the upper levels of the manor. It was a cold place, but since the Esprit didn't have much of a sense of temperature, Sam didn't suppose they did too much heating of the house. All she hoped was that they had blankets of some kind.

The knight led them into a large chamber, where several chairs littered the room and the walls were lined with rows upon rows of books. Sam might have died of happiness were their situation not quite so dire. She found herself a nice spot atop one of the cushions that lay on the ground and arranged her skirts so that she could sit comfortably. Behind her, the boy sat cross-legged in a wooden chair, his eyes fixed on her back. Well, he had said he was at her disposal, so she guessed that meant protection as well.

Skulker settled into an armchair and leaned back, stroking his chin as he searched for the words to begin his tale. Ember sat in a chair beside him, running her fingers through her long, fiery locks.

At last, the knight opened his mouth to speak. "I can't tell you exactly what happened, since it happened so fast I wasn't able to get too much intelligence from the whole ordeal, but I can tell you a few things. The attack started long before any fighting reached the castle, much farther into Eldwist. It was a bloody struggle, and we lost quite a few soldiers in little more than an hour. Unfortunately, I was in the castle, seeing to security when it started, otherwise it might not have gotten as far as it had."

Sam bit her lip as he spoke, fearful that he'd tell her of the death of her kin.

"Shortly after we heard the first shouts from the guard tower the King approached me, telling me of treachery. He didn't say who or what, only that I was to make certain that both his children left the castle alive. I'm not sure what happened to his majesty after that, but I do know what happened to the queen. After giving Princess Samantha the bottle, she dashed off in search of Dashiel. She, the coven-trained guardian, and a few others escaped with the prince to the east."

"Who was it that attacked us?" Jazz asked after a few moments, crossing one leg over the other in the chair she'd leaned back in.

"I'm not exactly sure who their employer was, but I know the men responsible. They're a group of Esprit from the Realms, and I wouldn't doubt they've turned into little more than hired mercenaries. One of them, the one I rescued Samantha from, was a man I'd hoped I'd never have to fight against. He's one of the older Esprit, and never does another man's dirty work unless that other man happens to be stronger than him. They call him the Fright Knight, the spirit of the Hallows."

* * *

_**Comment Replies:** _

_beautybelle300256: Thank you for the praise. I try to keep my stories as mature as possible, since I know that this fandom can actually be aimed at an older audience if the content is made to be slightly darker. I would highly recommend reading the Kingdom of Thorne and Bone, it's proving to be a very, very good series._

_Amber-Phantom: Thanks for your enthusiasm, sorry it took so long to update._

_Phantomshadowdragon: All will be revealed in due time, don't worry. ;) No, you don't need to read the books to understand this plot, since it's quite capable of standing on its own, but they're good to read none the less. You'll be able to see which characters are linked with others in some cases, such as Sam's link to Anne Dare in the books. _

_Aurora HickoryEye: Thanks for your comment, it's good to get positive feedback. I'm trying to update more often, but this story is so complicated that it takes me a few weeks to plot everything out before I write it._

Thanks for the comments, the next chapter should be up soon!


	3. Disillusionment

_**Danny Phantom**_

**_The Kept_**

_Author's Notes: Welcome back, all. This story hasn't been updated in awhile, since I've been so busy working on other projects, but I thought I'd keep it going at least to maintain that it still -is- a work in progress. Anyways, we've got more plot development and backstory headed your way, so sit tight. I won't waste any more time, so here is chapter three of "The Kept."_

**Chapter Three**

**Disillusionment**

**

* * *

**

"Fright Knight?" Samantha repeated, blinking once. "I remember the name, but not clearly."

"Stories say he's been alive since the time of Virgenya, and even then, those are just stories. There's really no telling how long he's been alive." Skulker sank into his chair and rubbed his temples wearily.

Sam nodded. "Please continue, Sir Skulker."

"Well, once Her Majesty was able to make her escape with Dashiel, we were able to escort you and Miss Jasmine from the castle. We were pursued through most of the inner wall, but they stopped once we crossed through the gate."

"I don't remember any of this..." Sam murmured, fixing her gaze on her skirts.

"Might be on account of the nasty fall you took once we cleared the city, somewhere near the river north of Eldwist." Skulker glanced back at his wife, then to the small crowd in his sitting room. "Your horse had an arrow protruding from her left flank. The spooking she got upon leaving the city was enough to keep the adrenaline going in her, but once it died down... well, you're lucky to have made it out of that icy water alive."

Sam nodded. "So... one of you fetched me then?"

"I did," Jazz said quietly. Sam gave her a grateful smile.

"Once we retrieved you, we sent a scout ahead to Dora's manor to let them know we were on our way and that you were injured. Once we got there, we had a physician look you over, put you to bed with heavy blankets and some steaming elixir he concocted out of the herbs in the gardens. Then you woke, dropped the bottle, and the kid appeared." He nodded towards the silent boy behind the princess, who was listening quietly and avoiding attention as best he could.

"Sounds like it's been a rough night," Ember commented, touching her cheek lightly. "And... he's Esprit, no?"

Danny blinked a few times. "Esprit?" he echoed, the tone of his voice suggesting he'd never heard the term before.

Sam looked at him. "You said you're not human, that must make you Esprit... but you look terribly mannish for an Esprit." Danny blinked again. "You... aren't Esprit?"

"I'd tell you if I knew what exactly that was," he replied flatly.

"Impossible," Jazz said, shaking her copper-crowned head. "There's nothing else sentient but Esprit and Man, not since the days of Virgenya."

"Manson?" he inquired in almost a whisper, apparently to himself. The room turned their eyes on him.

"Maybe it's time he told _us_ a story," Ember said, amusement playing on her silken voice.

The boy shook his head. "Another time," he murmured, and folded his arms across his chest. Jazz cleared her throat and eyes shifted to her instead.

"They've been tracking us all night, I have no doubt they'll track us here as well," she said matter-of-factly, getting to her feet and crossing the room to stand beside Samantha. "We all know that for certain. We might have lost them in the tunnels, but there's no guarantee that they'll stay lost for long. I think we should keep moving... we might even need to leave Amity."

Skulker nodded silently, taking in her words and swirling them around in his head. "You present a good point, miss Jasmine, but we don't even know if it's safe to leave the country yet. We would be better off sending scouts to ascertain the fate of Eldwist."

"And mother," Sam added, her eyes fixed on her hands.

The Captain of the Guard nodded again. "We were given specific instructions to keep you safe, and for now, the safest place I can think of is here. For now, I think it would be best if we awaited a messenger from your mother."

"But how will she know...?" Sam started.

"Trust me, she'll know, Princess."

Ember, who'd remained silent for the last several minutes, finally spoke up. "I think we should find rooms for our guests and go over how we intend to get them out in case of... unforeseeable circumstances." The glanced at her husband before continuing. "In either case, I agree that it would be safest for you to remain here, your highness. Open travel risks you being spotted, and the entourage we have here is not quite what I'd call _inconspicuous_," she said, a half-smile dancing on her lips. "I'll show you to your rooms, and if anyone is hungry, I can have the cooks whip something up quickly."

Food? Sam hadn't even thought about food since the party. Now that she thought about it, she was quite famished. She doubted she'd eaten in several hours, and while normally she would have been asleep in her chamber, they'd been running from their mysterious attackers for the larger part of the night. Which brought up another point: she had no idea what time it was. Judging by the faint pink on the eastern horizon, she had a pretty good guess that the dawn was rapidly approaching.

"That sounds wonderful, Lady Ember," Sam said. "Thank you so much for your hospitality."

"Think nothing of it."

* * *

_"Sam, this isn't a good idea," Jazz whispered. "We're not allowed to wander when we visit the City of Shadows!"_

_"And no one will know otherwise if you hush," Sam snapped in a whisper. "C'mon, there's still lots of stuff here we've never seen."_

_The City of Shadows was a mysterious, dark place. It was home to many of the citizens of Amity, but the entire metropolis was silent as a tomb, save for the steps of the royal visitors that proceeded through its eerie quiet. They had proceeded forth, draped in black dress and veils, as was custom for the royal funeral procession. It was silent for the single fact that the City of Shadows _was_ a tomb, the final resting place for the people of Amity. No one knew how old the Necropolis was. Some theorized that the city had been around since the time of Virgenya herself, and longer before that in the ten thousand year reign of the Ombra and their witch kings. _

_That day was a particularly sad one. The funerals they attended were those of Sam's youngest aunt, Katerina, who the family referred to as Kitty, and Aragon's wife Penelope. Kitty had died of some attack on her manor that had left she and many of her subjects dead within minutes. The king had said it looked to be religious extremists, but from what Sam had sneaked out of the reported, she thought it had been suspicious and pointed fingers in all the wrong directions. Certainly not on the level._

_What she had found most intriguing about it was the reports of her aunt's condition upon death. Her throat had been cut, but that, according to the physician who'd examined her body, had not been her cause of death. Kitty's eyes had been carefully removed and her mouth and eyelids sewn shut, almost symbolically. What had killed her had been the excessive bleeding that resulted from an injury that had occurred during her apparent torture. Even with her eyes, she would have bled to death within a matter of hours, maybe less. The cutting of her throat must have been symbolic as well, she guessed._

_Penelope's death, on the other hand, had been far less brutal. In fact, it appeared that during their midday tea, Lady Penelope had simply dropped dead of her own accord, in front of her husband and thirty guests, who all reported the same story: One moment she was fine, and the next she was dead. The physician had found no traces of poison, no wounds, nothing to suggest foul play, which made her death all the more suspicious. What was more, the Lady Penelope had been with child._

_As per tradition, the funeral procession had proceeded to the dark twin of Eldwist Castle, Eldwist of Shadows. The large necropolis held many similar copies of the living versions of the cities in Amity, all connected by stone walkways and catwalks that crisscrossed over and under, some gleaming with smooth, polished black stone, some with gray marble, others with dull silver, representing the many roads, trails, and rivers that connected the kingdom. The several carriages made their way to the great stone castle, where the caskets were unloaded and carried by servants, followed by King Jeremy, Queen Pamela, Sam and Dash, the King's siblings, and the rest of the royal entourage. _

_Once inside the castle, they made their way to the great dining hall, where over a dozen long, ornate marble tables were arranged. Each table seated roughly twenty five, and Sam noticed that the older she got, the more tables there were. The older tables were all filled, stone effigies of long-passed Mansons sitting in their marble chairs, forever preparing to eat their meals of polished stone bread and wine. Seven of the tables were filled, a long feast of the dead enjoyed only by the stone. The eighth table was only partly filled. The royal entourage that had entered the castle were the only living that had been left. Sam sat beside two stone incarnations of siblings that had died young, the tiny body of a younger brother who had died in infancy on her right, and the stone child that was the older brother who died of a fall from his horse at a tender age to her left. Dash sat on the other side of young Prince William, and to the right of their mother. _

_At almost eight years old, Sam had always been bored by these funeral proceedings. She had attended both the funerals of her siblings and of her Grandfather, the late King Darier, and his wife when they had passed. She couldn't remember attending any other funerals, but by now she'd gotten used to the tradition. _

_The living sat and ate their corporeal versions of the stone food that the dead appeared to eat. Two of the wooden chairs had been removed and replaced by stone echoes, and as they prepared to eat, two more stone effigies were carried in by servants and placed in their stone chairs. Kitty's stone copy was placed to the left of Aragon, and Penelope was placed to his right. Sam had noticed that he looked unusually blank after his closest sibling and his wife had both died._

_Once their meal was finished, the royal entourage, save the king, left the dining hall to walk through the halls of the castle. The King remained behind, where he, and he alone, conducted a traditional ritual to ease the passing of the living into the world of the dead. _

_"Sam, we shouldn't stray too far from your mother," Jazz cautioned again. "What if there are squatters here?"_

_"Nonsense," Sam replied, leading the way through the the halls at a run. Her black robes billowed out behind her and her hair began to fall from the black ribbons that held it fast. "You can't get into the City of Shadows unless the gatekeeper sees that you have a key, and you can't get into Eldwist of Shadows unless you actually have a key." She giggled as she slowed to a stop before the shadowed twin of her own bedroom. There were hundreds of bedrooms in Eldwist, and Eldwist of Shadows, and very few of them were used more than a few times in the history of the castle, save for the king and queen's chambers. Her own room, she knew, had been used only one other time in the thousand years of written history that encompassed Eldwist, but there was never a mention of just who had used the room. No one else seemed to know, either._

_She peered in, marveling at how this room was an exact match to her room in the castle. She smiled and slipped through the door, jumping onto the soft black of the bed. The only difference in this room and her own was the colors, and she couldn't say she minded. She flopped back, ignoring the smell of dust and stale air. _

_"Sam, let's go, I'm getting really creeped out," Jazz said in almost a desperate tone. Sam sighed and sat up. _

_"Fine, lemme see something first and then we'll go back downstairs."_

_Sam climbed off of the bed and crossed the room, intending to peer into the armoire to see if there were any dresses, when something else caught her eye. It was small, but it stood out brilliant gold against the gray and black of the room. She was amazed that she'd never seen it before now. She bent down to touch it. A tiny golden handle, hinged to the floor._

_"Sam..." Jazz murmured in a cautionary tone. Sam ignored her._

_She reached and grasped the handle, turned it and then pulled. The floor swung forward, shocking her and sending her tumbling into the gaping hole that was now in the floor of her room._

_"Sam!" Jazz called and dashed to the hole. "Sam are you okay?"_

_"Fine," the princess called up. "Just a little startled is all." She'd landed somewhat softly on a stone casket that was centered in a large, ornate chamber, filled with stone flowers in marble vases, decorative furniture, and beautiful portraits and tapestries. They all pictured one woman, with long, flowing raven locks and sharp violet eyes. She might have been Sam, but her eyes were much darker than the young princess. "Whoa," she breathed. She turned her attention to the sarcophagus again. It was covered in decorative, runic lettering, roughly spelling a word she didn't recognize._

_V-E-R-J-I-N-Y-A_

_"Verjinya?" Sam repeated, hearing the word ring out loud._

_"What?" Jazz asked from without the hole._

_"This coffin says 'V-e-r-j-i-n-y-a. But when you say it out loud, it kinda sounds like-"_

_"Virgenya?" Jazz finished for her. _

_"Yeah. It's really old and dusty." She paused a moment. "What if it's Lady Virgenya Manson's tomb?" she said excitedly. Jazz simply shook her head._

_"They don't know where she was buried, why would she be here? Now c'mon Sam, they're probably looking for us now."_

_Sam sighed. "Fine, let's go. We'll explore again the next time we're here."_

_

* * *

_

Days passed with no word from the outside. Sam, Jazz, and the boy spent much of their time in the library, since the weather had proven to be fickle and had been pouring for what felt like an eternity. Sam perused the history sections, while Jazz sat patiently and the boy, Danny, had holed himself in a far corner, poring over stacks of tomes and scrolls for information on subjects Sam couldn't understand. It wasn't because she made no attempt to discover what he was reading. It was more due to the fact that the scrolls and tomes he read fluidly were all written in an archaic language that predated the King's tongue by at least seven hundred years. She couldn't remember what they called it.

So she sat in her pile of books, flipping through pages and pages of diagrams of relics and texts of translated tablets. Jazz sat close by, arranging her finished piles neatly. She was absorbed in a particularly fascinating retelling of the conquest of the Ombra when Skulker burst through the library doors, holding a letter in his hand.

"Your highness," he said, dropping briefly to one knee. "Your mother has sent word. Apparently, when she had her scouts investigate Eldwist, they discovered that it was in the same condition it had been in before the attack." Sam blinked in confusion, but Skulker went on. "She's also returned to the castle."

"But what if someone tries to kill her and Dash-"

"Prince Dashiel did not return to Eldwist. He remains in the care of a coven-trained woman that I've met only once. She seemed cold when we spoke briefly, but she's capable and she'll keep him safe."

Sam nodded. "So she went back alone?"

"It appears she and the rest of their entourage returned to the castle to assure the people that everything is well. No one is yet aware that both heirs to the throne are currently missing." She nodded and looked at her skirts, and he continued. "However, she gave us specific instructions as well. I am to return to Eldwist in the interest in safeguarding your father. You and your attendant are to take the bottle she gave you," he cast a glance at Danny, who pretended not to listen, "and proceed to Saint Lauraline's coven. She sent word ahead that she wishes you trained."

Sam blinked again in confusion. "So... I'm going to be a nun?"


	4. Reigning Legitimacy

_**Danny Phantom**_

**_The Kept_**

_Author's Notes: And we're back again, quicker than I usually update. My apologies for such little plot development, still working towards it, but fear not, I've got a map to get us through this murky forest of story. More backstory for you today, along with more character introductions. Please keep in mind that I am fully aware that very few of these characters are going to be "in character," so please do not start fussing if some character doesn't fit the role you believe they ought to play. Thanks very much for the positive reviews, though, and if there are any questions, feel free to ask and I will answer them all as best I can. Now, on to the next chapter, enjoy.  
_

**Chapter Four  
**

**Reigning Legitimacy  
**

**

* * *

**

"WHERE ARE THEY?" he screamed, brandishing the sword.

"I told you, I don't know! The coven-trained never told me where they went, and for good reason!" the other snarled, and spat at him angrily.

He simply wiped it away and then said, a little more calmly, "Well then, before I kill you-"

"You said you wanted me alive."

"I've changed my mind. Before I kill you, tell me one thing: _Who are you_?"

Jeremy Manson, emperor of Amity, stared at his younger brother with his mouth agape, utterly flabbergasted at such a ludicrous question. "What in Grimm is that supposed to mean?" he snapped, jerking against the braided rope that bound him fast to his own throne.

"I said, who are you? Tell me who you are!" Aragon snarled, bearing his teeth viciously. "Who are you, Jeremy?"

"Well you just said it yourself-" he started, but the comment earned him a belting in the ribs. "Alright!" he hissed, inhaling to numb the sharp jab that raked through his left side. "I am Jeremy Manson, eldest son of William Manson II of Amity, married to Pamela Manson dé Lancer of Gheist. Does that satisfy you?" Jeremy growled.

Aragon considered him for what felt like hours, staring at him with his piercing green eyes, so similar to Jeremy's own hard crystal ones. "Almost, brother. Tell me, how did Penelope die?"

Jeremy blinked. A trick question? Strange, but he parted his lips to answer none the less. "Initially we thought it to be poison... but..."

"But?"

"But there was evidence of ghostcraft, old magicks not used since the early days of the Church," Jeremy finished, still gazing at his brother with a look of contempt. At last Aragon broke their eye contact and paced the length of the room, then turned back. "What, nothing else to ask?"

"No, I think that will quite do," Aragon replied, and brought down the blade upon Jeremy.

Jeremy closed his eyes and wondered, _Is this it? Is this how I die?_ His own musings were interrupted not by the bite of cold steel, but rather by the lack thereof. He opened his eyes slowly and realized that he wasn't dead at all, and his bonds had been severed cleanly. Confusion was apparent on his aging features. "I'm not sure I understand..."

"At first, neither did I," Aragon replied, leaning casually against the throne, sheathing the sword at his side. "When those Esprit men burst into my room last night and tried to cut my throat, I thought surely it was some sort of coup," he explained, slicking back his dark hair. "But when I realized that your entire family had vanished without so much as a bloody trace, I began to wonder. Most of the slain, you see, were of my own court. The rest fled."

Jeremy eyed his brother incredulously. "You inspected their bodies?"

"What was left of them. I apologize for the deception, brother, but I had to be sure it wasn't you trying to force me out of the picture and reclaim some of the lands of Amity. I was paranoid, and I erred."

"If I am already king, what good would that do me?"

"As I said, I was somewhat paranoid. Someone had tried to fix me in my own bed, if you recall, so you must excuse my absence of judgment. It was when I saw that my courtiers were murdered _without_ blades that I began to worry for your wife and children, and as you were still here, it dawned on me that you might have been witched into their ghostcraft. I erred, and I apologize, but I had to be sure that you truly are _you._ It would do Amity less good if her king is a mind puppet."

"That doesn't explain why you threatened to steal my crown and murder my children," Jeremy snapped, rubbing his wrists tenderly.

"You know me, brother," the other replied. "You know that when confronted with an opponent who deals in as much... _meddling_ as I do, I have to find myself an upper hand. In this case, do you think you might have reacted as _you_ if you were under ghostcraft? Or if you were an impostor? A crafted man would only know the terms of his crafting, and an impostor would try to save his own hide when confronted with the deaths of his target's family. He would not, however, be able to tell me how my own wife dropped dead."

Jeremy sighed heavily. Though he hated it, he had to concede to his brother's point. And he knew Aragon. So he cuffed him hard in the shoulder and turned to exit the rubble-strewn throne room.

"Ow! What was that-"

"For my ribs," Jeremy replied before Aragon could finish, and the younger sibling sighed.

"Alright, I suppose I deserved that..."

"Now come, there's work to be done. No one can know what transpired here last night, for fear our enemies are listening with their greedy hearts."

* * *

Jack Fenton was a man of few words. When he did speak, it was to himself, or the few that he did trust. That limited his use of wording, and so when he had to engage in conversation, his words came awkwardly and at volumes that were either too loud or too soft, and never just right. He was uncultured, uncivilized, and uncouth, but what he lacked in proper etiquette he more than made up for with his sheer tact and skill. Had it not been for those qualities that exemplified him as a master hunter and woodsman, he may have never received his charter from the King.

He didn't really care. King or no, he was the protector of these woods, regardless of who or what gave him authority. The only difference was that he had the colors to back up his words, and so more often than not, he was blessed with less bloodshed and his trumped-up reputation, which tended to precede him wherever he traveled (which wasn't terribly far from the twisted branches and wild brambles of the deep wood that he had known his whole life as his own sacred haven).

That was how the Esprit had felt about it, too. They had that in common, that and his childhood, which they had shared with him. More than shared, really, since he'd been raised by an old Esprit woman who had called herself _Leonche_, for whatever reasons he didn't know. The Esprit always chose their own names, and they lacked any discernible rhyme or reason, but that was neither here nor there. Right now, in this moment, he had only one thing to focus on, and that was why, suddenly, all of these snow-skinned travelers had just vacated the forest they'd lived in since before he could even remember, probably even before the _Yonnbhra _had decided to make dogs of out men and sleep on their bones. But that was centuries, even millennia ago, so his speculation didn't make a wit of difference.

However, leaving one's home for not reason at all was suspicious, even for the shifty Esprit.

"Hoy, holter!" called a man, with long, dirty, straw-colored hair and a sinister shadow that followed him about.

"Ah, 'lo Johnny," he said gruffly, and pointed to the encampment on the edge of which he stood. "Get tired o' the forest, or just taking a stroll?"

There was no mirth in the laugh that Johnny responded with, just an empty sort of chuckle that sounded like the wind blowing through a hollow tree. "Neir, it may be both," he said, stroking his chin. "But 'ou should talk wit' Mother Leonche, she said 'ou mit' need to see her."

At this Jack cocked a single eyebrow. "Eh? For what might I want to see a withered old woman with about as helpful information as a kidfable?" he asked.

Johnny simply shrugged. He had busied his hands with the arduous work of pitching a tent, which was funny because Jack knew that Esprit made it their habit to sleep only when the woods enclosed them, and this was most certainly not the proper setting. "She's o'er by that wagon, if you've a mind to talk."

Jack nodded stiffly, and determined himself to walk through the crowd of icy air that accompanied the pale bodies of the busy Esprit. They were known for the unnatural chill that followed them about. Rarely was it noticeable when the gatherings were small, but as the numbers jumped, the temperature dropped and there were at least a hundred here.

He ignored it and stopped, setting his jaw, and knelt down.

"Sommat you need?" he asked her, gazing up at her. Leonche's pale green eyes studied a spot a few inches to his right, then she closed them and gazed into the crystal eyes with which he observed her.

"Or perhaps," she said, exhibiting her dramatic grasp of the king's tongue over that of the other Esprit, and somewhat over Jack, who didn't speak enough to care anyways, "perhaps it is you that needs my help?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Why in Grimm would I need your help?" he asked her skeptically. "As I figure, you and yer lot cleared out o' my forest so it would _appear_," he said, accenting his words before pausing and then going on, "that you're the one 'at needs any help."

Leonche looked at him sadly, tapping his cheek with her left hand and shaking her ancient head. "Come, we need to speak privately. There is much I have to show you, before it is too late."

* * *

_Jeremy had never favored the church. It was true that Amity was a God-fearing empire, and custom required the church's blessing upon coronation, but Jeremy found the useless rituals, the veiled threats, and the hidden agendas that accompanied the divinity of the Gods to be far too similar to politics than he cared for. Beyond those abhorrent smiles that spoke of deceit behind the cloth, he found that very little interactions between the crown and the church hadn't been for some sleight of hand political agenda on either side. Almost like a great game of chess, one that had gone on since the days of the witch wars, the prize being the kingdom. Thus far, the crown had a slight, very slight, lead, but who could tell how many moves his skilled opponent had already planned?_

_The emperor of Amity could only imagine that today would be the day that the players made their moves, and only one would stand unchecked. He made his way through lavish courtyards and great marble walks, through halls with vaulted ceilings and grand chambers of whitest stone, accompanied by an entourage of his wisest, if not the most popular, advisers. These men were good at what they did, and above all else, they were loyal to him, and him alone. That made for a powerful piece when faced with the enormous task set before him._

_The grand temple that had unfolded before him led him to their meeting place, a chamber built spectacularly of polished white marble and obsidian, lined with burning torches in their brackets, and furnished with a great semi-circle of a stone table that rested a few paces from the seat of the High Father, the patriarch of the church. This was where their debate would begin, and end, with an outcome that could well change the course of mannish history._

_Jeremy and his advisers took their seats at the eastern edge of the table, with the stone chair positioned at the northern-most edge of the chamber, facing them. He sat in the fifth chair from the end, with four of his men to his right and left, and the Kingsgard positioned in various places in the room and the hall beyond. As they sat, the men of the cloth entered, each of them in their brightly-colored robes that distinguished their ranking in church society, and they sat according to that rank so that as Jeremy's eyes swept over them, he felt the distinct sensation of gazing at a rainbow after a spring rain._

_ At the western-most edge of the table sat the man with whom he'd come to "butt heads," so to speak. He was tall and well built, his hair neatly groomed and tied behind him in the fashion of a Bishop, his beard evenly trimmed, his black robes clean and pressed. Father Masters, for all his charm and apparent wit, was an imposing man indeed._

_Though each seat was filled, the room was silent, save the occasional huff of breath from one of its many occupants. Then the High Father entered, walking slowly with his hands posed before him as though in prayer, his long white robes trailing the pristine floor as he paced, the tall, ornamental hat precariously perched on his horned dome shifting ever so slightly with each padded footstep. He arrived at his position, turned, and took his seat in the stone chair._

_For being such an old thing, High Father Frostbite was a highly intelligent man. Though he appeared more beast than man, the High Father was quick of both wit and wisdom, and his intellect on all matters was stated factually, and never questioned. He was the first, and quite probably the last, Esprit to reach such a high rank in the church as High Father, but from any of the Saintly Council there was no complaint. High Father Frostbite had certainly earned his position, and was well known, and well liked, as being a genuinely good man._

_He raised his right hand, and the entire room slowly rose to their feet. "Auteuem Pharisun," he said, his voice clear in the ancient Aerombric tongue that the church had adopted as its own, and in which their holy texts had been transcribed._

_"Ayetem Pharisun," the room murmured in return, each of the men signing the holy blessing of two fingers over the heart, and sat without a sound._

_"Let this matter be discussed, then," High Father Frostbite said, gesturing to Jeremy. "King Jeremy of Amity, please speak."_

_Jeremy stood slowly, smoothing the folds from his doublet and clasping his hands behind him. "As you all know, my son, Dashiel, is crowned heir to my empire." His eyes swept the room. "As some of you know, he may not survive long enough to inherit his rightful title of King."_

_"How has the prince's condition progressed?" inquired one of the seated churchmen, this one wearing long robes of creamy yellow._

_"Slowly, but every physician we have consulted has given us the same diagnosis, and the same frame of time." Jeremy paused here, willing himself to remain passive, stoic, in front of the blood-thirsty wolves that sat harmlessly amongst the harmless flock of the churchmen. They were here, but invisible. "If he is fortunate, he may yet live through his twenty third winter, but there is little hope in that. They believe his twentieth may well be his last."_

_"Does this illness yet have a name? It is quite uncommon, but I am aware that its occurrences are becoming more frequent," said another priest, one wearing robes of gray._

_"They are calling it 'Ghost touch,' I believe."_

_"And he is exhibiting symptoms?" the gray-robed priest asked._

_Jeremy gave them a slow nod, one that was firm but saddened none the less. "The muscle failure has already begun, and the white spots of his skin are manifesting. We have been fortunate that they do not touch his face."_

_There was a slight murmur amongst the churchmen, and when all was silent again, Jeremy went on. "The reason I have sought an audience with you is not to discuss my son's fate, but the fate of my family, and perhaps that of Amity. As you know, of my four children, three were sons, and of them, only one still lives, for a time. My daughter, Samantha, is all that will remain of my blood. I am here to propose to you that in the absence of a male heir in the Manson line, I name the Princess Samantha as my heir to the empire of Amity and her colonies."_

_Another buzz of discussion sprang up, this one more fervent than the first. "But this is not possible! Scripture states that the throne of Amity must pass to a male-"_

_"Unless no male be present to take it, and so it shall pass to a female. I know the scripture, Father Masters," Jeremy replied, his face remaining stony and impassive. The Bishop looked as though he had a mind to argue, but he knew Jeremy was right._

_"What of your siblings? Be there no other male heir to take the throne?" inquired the yellow-robed monk._

_"Aragon's wife and unborn son, as you should know, both perished of unknown causes. Dora has no intention of marrying or producing legitimate heirs, Allura is slow to marry and states she has no plans to bear children, and Walker's seven children are all girls."_

_"If that is true, then why Samantha, and not one of your brother's daughters?" asked one churchman in crimson robes._

_"Samantha is, obviously, older, and has had more training in the ways of court life and the duties of monarchy. Walker's girls are all but babes, hardly more than a decade old. Clearly, my daughter is the logical choice."_

_"He speaks the truth," the gray-robed priest conceded. "If there is to be a new heir, it must be according to scripture, and that scripture states that in the absence of a king's son, his daughter may rule in that stead."_

_A murmur of agreement swept around the room._

_"What of Dashiel's betrothal?" Father Masters said loudly, locking his eyes with the king's for a moment before turning them on the High Father. "If Dashiel is to produce a male heir before he dies-"_

_"Then the throne would pass to that heir. But the likelihood of such an event-"_

_"It is possible, however, is that correct?"_

_"Yes, but-"_

_"Then perhaps we might consider waiting to name the heir until after it is certain that Dashiel will not produce one. After all, it is possible-"_

_"But, as I was saying, it is highly unlikely, and the risk of bearing a male child without his father's affliction is too great."_

_There was much hushed debate after this men whispering their arguments back and forth, until the High Father raised his hand. Silence fell again, and he opened his mouth to speak. "It is true that however slight, the possibility remains that Dashiel could produce a male heir." Father Masters shot Jeremy a smug look. "However," the High Father went on, "It is also true that the possibility is slim, and so I shall render this verdict: If Dashiel is able to produce a male heir before his twenty first winter, or if any of the blood and name Manson can produce an heir before his twenty first winter, the throne shall pass to the child. If, however, they do not, then Samantha shall have her claim to the throne."_

_"But High Father-"_

_"There will be no further discussion on this matter unless there is something to discuss. Adjourned," he said, then rose and proceeded through the great oak doors. The look that Vlad gave to Jeremy was scathing, but Jeremy didn't care. He was filled with a pride so great that not even the Gods themselves could wash it out.

* * *

_

_Gregor,_ Sam wrote, tapping her lower lip thoughtfully. What was she to say to a love she'd abandoned weeks ago? Was she to write, _I miss you come save me_, like some kidnapped damsel with no sense of honor? No, that was not what she would write. But she would tell him she was well, and where she had gone, and how much she missed him, with the eyes she adored so, and the warmth of his body pressed against hers. She glanced around the room, spying Jazz asleep on the bed, and standing against the door, his eyes closed, was the strange boy who'd begged her call him Danny.

What a funny name, she mused to herself. But she cast aside those distracting thoughts and focused, dipping the quill into the little glass jar and pressing it to the parchment delicately. _I hope you are not alarmed at my message, and I must apologize for what happened..._

She wrote well into the night, until the parchment was filled with gleaming letters, and she had run out of things to say. Well, at least he would have comfort in knowing where she was and where she was going, and perhaps someday soon, he would come for her.


End file.
